Uninvited
by Bobbie
Summary: PG-13 for language. Takes place a few years after the event in "Dark Reunion". Bonnie has amnesia...but does she want to remember? *CHAPTER SIX NOW UP*
1. Prologue

Disclaimer:  Not mine.  Though I wouldn't mind if they were.

Prologue 

She really couldn't remember a lot about her past.  She remembered the town in which she grew up, her parents and family--a little.  It was all in bits and pieces, though.  The harder she tried to remember, the more frustrated she became, and so she gave up on trying to remember all the bits and pieces a long time ago.  Sure, it was hard not to have a solid past, or to remember old acquaintances, but it would be harder not to live in the present, or concentrate on her future.

Her parents had told her that the memory lapses began about six months after her high school graduation, with apparently no cause at all.  She would fall into comatose sleeps that would last well over fourteen hours; they said that they could hear her having nightmares, but trying to wake her had been useless.  She'd been to doctors, psychologists, sleep specialists, parapsychologists, members of the clergy--and no one had any excuses for her condition.  Her parents had fretted continually as her memory continued to wane after each episode of deep sleep.  This went on for nearly four months, and then--it had stopped.  At least, that's what her parents said.  She had no memory of that whatsoever.

What she did remember was where life picked up after that.  Her parents worked hard with her to help her reclaim memories that they felt would be of importance to her--her junior and senior proms, her graduation, her friends, especially those who had moved on...

Those memories had been the hardest to reclaim.  Her whole senior year at Robert E. Lee High was a blur to her.  And what little she could remember made no sense...always flashes, quick and brilliant, like snapshots in time...names and faces that she was somehow sure of: Elena, bright and beautiful, like a candle flame, and Meredith, strong and graceful, so mature for her age...and Matt, good-looking and wholesome, and then--

She could never quite remember anyone else, no matter how hard her parents tried to help her.  She was sure there were others who had been important to her, so very, very important...but the names, the faces, they were gone, perhaps forever, and more than anything else, that lost memory was what troubled her the most.  It flitted in and out, and she could imagine words to describe it...dark, powerful, frightening, and yet, somehow, she felt comforted by its presence hovering at the edge of her consciousness.  Even though it tormented her that she could never quite figure out what it was her unconscious wanted her to remember, she knew she's be very sad if some small fragment--even if it was just a feeling--wasn't there at all.

At least then, she hoped that someday it would all come back to her. She just had no clue when someday would be.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter 1**

The music was deafening.

She sat listlessly in a darkened corner table, absent-mindedly tapping someone's Zippo on the polished tabletop, the strobe lights turning her movements into a spectacle out of an old-school horror flick.  Just about anything could be more amusing than being there.

She was in one of those moods.  Had she felt otherwise, she might have been able to enjoy herself, but at the moment, everything was just damn annoying.  The ambience, which wasn't really ambient at all, the lights, the people…Well, Melissa was tolerable.  She glanced up, idly surveying the pulsating mass of drunken bodies occupying the expansive dance floor.  Too bad the girl was nowhere in sight.

She sighed, checking her watch, or trying to, for that matter, given the inefficacy of the lighting.  Letting her hand flop into her lap, she tossed the lighter onto the table and pushed herself awkwardly to her feet, cocking an eyebrow at a beer sitting untouched at the end of the table.  She hesitated, the temptation to pick it up and finish it off nearly overwhelming.  She bit her lip, taking a deep breath as she forced herself to walk away.

Hefting her chic little purse, she deftly ducked her head beneath the strap and positioned the bag at her hip as she began to make her way towards an exit.  It was hot as hell, and, God…she coughed as she passed through a cloud of what could only be the worst skunkweed she ever caught wind of…it stank.  Damn, when did she become such a prude?

"Bonnie!  Hey, Bonnie, wait up!"

She groaned, closing her tired eyes, her shoulders slumping.  She grabbed a handful of thick, wavy titian hair, lifting it off her neck to cool herself, pivoting slowly to face her so-called friend.  Damn, she really _was_ moody.

Melissa Reynolds, her best friend and roommate, bounced over to her, a goofy grin on her flushed countenance, rich mahogany shocks falling over her face.  It was obvious she was a few beers beyond drunk.  She gave Bonnie a cursory once-over with glassy chocolate brown eyes, her smiling fading.  "You're going home?" she queried, her voice cracking from overuse and reflecting her disappointment.

Bonnie let her arm fall, dropping her hair and tilting her head to one side, again closing her eyes, this time nearly wincing.  "Yes," she ground out through clenched teeth.  She righted herself, straightening and leveling her passive gaze on her inebriated roommate.  She watched indifferently as Melissa began to sulk, cocking an eyebrow when she started to whine unintelligibly.  Crossing her arms, she averted her attentions to emphasize that no amount of begging would work.

"Forget it, Missy.  I can't stand this."  As if on cue, an over-zealous group of frat boys chose that moment to nearly bowl her over on their way to the bar, fresh from the sweaty mob on the dance floor.  She stumbled forward, more startled than anything, but the novelty passed, and she did nothing but roll her eyes.  Regaining her posture, she glanced back at Melissa fiercely, emphatically gesturing in the general direction in which the apes had disappeared.  "I can't stand _that_."

Melissa wasn't giving up that easily, letting her head flop to one side, pleading with her eyes.  "Oh, c'mon, Bon…It's Friday night!"

Bonnie narrowed her eyes, again crossing her arms disapprovingly.  "Missy, I told you, this was a bad idea.  I do not want to be here.  Sometimes, yeah, it's fun to sit around and watch drunk people be drunk, especially when you're the only sober person.  But not tonight.  Not now."  She let her arms fall to her sides, reaching out to give her friend an assuring pat on the arm.  "I'm turning in."

She slowly rounded towards the exit once again, catching herself and pausing to eye Melissa over her shoulder.  "Hey…you'll call if you need me?  Rachel's still here, right?  And Stella?"

Missy, still determined as ever, her mouth pouting, nodded forlornly.  "Yeah, they're here."  She paused, suddenly hopeful at Bonnie's hesitation.  "Sure you won't stay for one more hour?"

Bonnie scoffed, shaking her head and mumbling to herself as she headed through the crowd, eager to breathe some fresh air.  So much for group support, she thought, angry with herself for even going to a bar at all.  Squeezing through the nearest body-choked doorway, she brushed herself off, smoothing the fabric of her sweater and vaguely wondering how long she'd have to air it out before it would stop smelling of smoke.  Huddling against the evening chill, she set out for her dorm, mindful of the swaggering passers-by.

****

"You're a real dumb-ass, you know that, right?"

Bonnie laughed half-heartedly, holding Melissa's hair back as the girl leaned over the toilet, her normally caramel-colored skin tainted olive from the effects of too much alcohol, and too much "fun".  She reached over her back, fetching a damp rag from the edge of the sink, using it to blot her friend's face and neck in between heaves.

"Oh?  How do you figure that, all-knowing one?"

Melissa gasped, her voice raw and choked as she fought to control her retching long enough to speak.  "Okay, right now, you're being a smart-ass…"  Bonnie winced, struggling not to turn away every time the girl leaned forward.  She breathed through her mouth in an effort not to let the smell get to her.

After another minute, the nausea seemed to momentarily pass.  Melissa reached out a limp hand to take the rag from Bonnie, unceremoniously wiping the spittle from her mouth, falling back against the tiled wall wearily, her pallor still rather waxy with a thin sheen of sweat covering her brow.  She cast a heavy-lidded glance in Bonnie's direction, cocking an eyebrow mockingly, daring her to cast the first stone.  But Bonnie knew better.  After all, it wasn't like Melissa had never had to do the same for her; Bonnie had put her roommate through more than her share of rough nights in the past.  Just not anymore.

She took her time catching her breath, waiting for the spasms to fully subside, so that talking wouldn't be such a monumental effort.  She averted her gaze to the rag in her hand, keeping her head tilted back, afraid that the room would start spinning if she moved it.  "It was really stupid of you to walk home by yourself.  It's the stuff of after-school specials, Bon."

The spunky redhead rolled her eyes patronizingly, letting her head tilt to one side.  "Oh, come _on_, Missy.  We're in _Erie_, for cryin' out loud.  What the hell could possibly have happened?  I was in more danger of being attacked at that damn bar."  With a grunt, she pushed herself to her feet, flushing the toilet before taking a seat on the rim of the tub.  "And don't tell _me_ about after-school specials." Yawning, she ran a hand through her hair, eyes heavy with sleep.

Melissa coughed quietly, grimacing at the taste in her mouth.  "I'm sorry I woke you up.  You should've dragged my drunk ass home with you."  There was a reticent pause, before she added, "Not the greatest role model right now, am I?"

Bonnie chuckled softly, waving a hand dismissively.  "It's no problem, Missy.  What are friends for, if not to make sure you hit the toilet?"

Both girls laughed tiredly, each a little giddy for different reasons.  Once subdued, Melissa reached out to Bonnie, gesturing for her to come forward.  "Get over here, bitchy."

Still smiling, she complied, sliding off the tub to plop on the floor beside her best friend, their heads touching as they both focused on the opposite wall.  Seconds became minutes, and finally, Bonnie ventured forth, breaking the silence.  "You gonna be okay?"

Melissa sighed, still playing idly with the wet rag in her lap.  "I don't know, Bon."  She took a chance and canted her head slightly, looking down on the crown of red hair beside her.  "Are you?"

Bonnie frowned, initially intent on asking what she meant, but realization dawned, and she merely bit her lip, looking down at her hands, palms up.  She was silent, holding them up after a long moment, as if staring at them long enough would reveal something.  Anything.  A tingling radiated out from the base of her neck, coursing down her spine, unsettling her.  Just as quickly as it had come, the feeling was gone.  She sighed, exasperated, and let her hands flop back down into her lap.

She was getting fed up with the never-ending strings of déjà vu. 

Shaking her head dismissively, she shrugged.  "I don't know, Miss.  There are these things…and times that are familiar…._so_ familiar.  But I don't know why.  It bugs the hell out of me."

Melissa's brow furrowed, her sluggish brain carefully digesting Bonnie's words.  "Not knowing, you mean?"

Bonnie let her head fall back again, shoulders slumping.  "Yeah.  It's just so hard…to be anything….when I can't even be certain.  I'm always guessing.  Reaching.  God, it's never gonna come back."

A sad smile briefly danced upon Melissa's mouth, one hand lightly patting Bonnie's flannel-covered leg.  "In time, Bon.  It'll come. Just hang in there."

Bonnie summoned her own smile, taking a deep breath.  "I'm just tired of waiting, I guess."

Another comfortable silence fell, lifted this time by Melissa, who began to make a staunch effort to get to her feet, using Bonnie's shoulder and the hamper to steady her in her endeavor.  "Well, chick, I think I'm too tired to puke anymore."

Bonnie snickered, reaching above her for the towel rack to hoist herself up.  "Well, thank God for that," she muttered, threading an arm through Melissa's to guide her back to her room.  They didn't get two steps before the bathroom door flew open, admitting a tall, dark-haired girl who appeared to have only been able to get partially undressed before crashing.  Hand covering her mouth, she shuffled awkwardly to the toilet, effectively barring the others from leaving while she spilled the contents of her stomach.

"Or not," Melissa commented wryly, pushing past Bonnie and collapsing by the edge of the tub, her nausea having returned with a vengeance.  The petite redhead could only stand by, helplessly throwing her hands in the air, eyes rolling heavenward.

"God, I just love Friday nights with you guys."

****

It'd been easy enough to fall into a comfortable routine when she'd moved to Erie.  For obvious reasons, her parents had been somewhat apprehensive when she'd opted for moving away to go to college.  She couldn't blame them.  Still, having had them constantly hovering over her, monitoring her every move for a solid year…it had been enough to nearly drive her insane.  If she wasn't already.

The last psychiatrist she'd been to see had been quick to emphasize that she wasn't crazy at all.  On the contrary, he insisted that her amnesia was most likely the work of a very healthy mind trying to move past an exceptionally traumatic event.  The most logical explanation, of course, was the death of one of her closest friends, according to her parents.  A girl named Elena Gilbert.  She'd fallen victim to a car accident in her senior year of high school, a period that constituted the substantial focal point of Bonnie's memory loss.  Bonnie, having known no other explanation, had been forced to accept that theory and try to move on, though, deep down, she felt there was something more to it than that.

In her efforts to attain some concept of normalcy in her briefly interrupted life, she shelved any attempt to reclaim what was lost, trudging through her first years of college with dedicated enthusiasm, throwing herself into all that was offered, desperate to make new connections, desperate to fill the void.

For a time, she felt it had worked.  She began to feel like a whole person again.  Confident.  Capable.  Hopeful.  It hadn't lasted, though.  She supposed she just didn't have the stamina for keeping up the façade.  Who was she kidding, really?  She could never be whole again.  Not when a piece of her past was essentially deleted from her mind.  She was through being "okay" with forgetting.  Now, all she wanted to do was remember.

In Bonnie's situation, however, it stood to prove that one can't always get what one wants.  She lived by the motto "good things come to those who wait", though she wondered if the wait would be worth it.  She had grown impatient, restless, frustrated.  Something was missing.  Something important, a part of her.  She found herself making bargains to higher powers, just for a chance for the murk to clear, if only for a moment.  There was nothing logical in this desire, just as any other want; common sense dictated that if she'd erased the memories herself in the first place, recovery might result in a worse case scenario.  

Common sense had never been her forte.  Something else was dictating the pursuit of her missing memories, something more demanding than the subtle prodding of idle curiosity, a need to know that seemed to grow more incessant with each passing day.  Her parents, then school and the excesses of campus life had diverted her attentions for three years.  The pressure building within had climaxed, and now the questions burned, hedging her in, commanding her surrender.  Time to relinquish blissful ignorance and prepare to face whatever demons lay lurking.

Logic and reason still teased her on occasion, mocking her in her pursuits.  What purpose did she have, what good would her efforts bring?  And of course, none of it made sense, per se, but she knew, although she wasn't sure how, that remembering would quell the ache that had festered for far too long.  She'd reached a stalemate in her life; remembering would help her to move on.

At least, she hoped so.  In the meantime, she had to deal the best way she knew how.  The best way, or any way.  She just had to deal.  And wait.

Still waiting.  Dealing.  Aching.  Burning.

****

"Bonnie?"

Passive brown eyes flickered towards the source of the voice, one brow raised inquisitively, before lowering once more to the photographs scattered haphazardly upon her bed.  Her legs, pretzeled for far too long beneath the weight of her body, were numb, one elbow propped on a knee to support her chin as she sorted complaisantly through the pictures, holding each up for a cursory glance before tossing it for another.  Her words garbled by a combination of fatigue and positioning of her jaw, her voice monotonous, she spoke without looking.

"You're back already?"

Melissa grunted with mock disbelief, one hand upon the doorjamb as she leaned in the doorway, dark eyes cataloguing the scene before her.  "Bon, it's nearly 2 in the morning."  She made a half-hearted attempt to sound offended, slipping into the room and looking down on the mess that surrounded her friend, pausing beside the bed and placing a hand on her hip.  Craning her neck this way and that, squinting in an effort to focus on any one of the photographs, she mumbled, "Would you rather we'd not come back at all?"

Perhaps on a different occasion, Bonnie would have summoned a smile for her friend to cover the unintentional coolness of her remark, but at the moment, she was too engrossed or, rather, too apathetic to bother.  Her shoulders heaved with a sigh, pausing to examine one photograph a little longer, straightening to reach for a tumbler of amber-colored liquid on the nightstand next to her bed.

Melissa frowned, watching with mild concern as Bonnie finished off the contents of the glass before returning it to the table.  She let the silence linger, still waiting to see if Bonnie would give her a response, until at last she settled carefully on the edge of the bed, peeking over her roommate's shoulder.  "What are you doing, Bon?"

While she awaited an answer, she casually lifted the glass on the nightstand to her nose for inspection, brow lowering as she sniffed.

"It's apple juice…Mom."

Melissa grimaced, putting down the glass and folding her hands in her lap with a sigh.  "I'm just, you know…checking.  You seem," she paused, searching for the right words.  "I don't know, down.  Wanna talk about it?"

Bonnie was still concentrating on the same picture, having resumed her previous pose, this time with her cheek in her palm.  Melissa examined it with her, leaning in to rest her chin on Bonnie's shoulder affectionately.  A group of kids, one of them Bonnie, looking a lot happier than Melissa had ever known her to be, with a sparkle in her big brown eyes in spite of the perm; on one side of her stood a tall girl with long, dark hair, and a beautiful olive complexion, one brow cocked in mild amusement, one corner of her mouth tilted in a wry smirk; on the other side, a flaxen-haired beauty whose presence seemed to drown out the other people in the photograph, bright eyes shining, her smile and countenance radiant, hypnotic.

"I remember the day this was taken.  I remember eating a bagel during the ride to school…blueberry, with nothing on it.  I remember I was nervous about my hair, because I'd just gotten a perm."  At this, Melissa couldn't help but smile, though Bonnie's voice belied no emotion while she recounted the story of the picture she held.  "And I remember thinking how happy I was to get to see Elena again because she'd been away for the summer…"

Melissa stiffened, suddenly aware of the sadness coating Bonnie's words.

"But…dammit, something else happened…something _important_…"  The petite redhead's voice finally broke, quiet sobs shaking her small shoulders as her head fell forward.  Mildly shocked, Melissa could only look on, rendered speechless by this sudden lapse, having never witnessed any like it before.  Always ambivalence, perhaps a lingering melancholy, but never anything more.  Seeing Bonnie cry unabashedly…it scared her.  She moved to lay a comforting hand upon her roommate's back, feeling her own tears stinging her eyes.

An angry cry shattered the quiet of the room as Bonnie lashed out, her arms violently sending pictures into the air, legs kicking out from beneath her to shove the majority that lie on her bed onto the floor.  Melissa had gotten to her feet unconsciously, eyes wide and glistening, heart pounding in her ears.  Bonnie's tantrum ended almost as soon as it had begun, anger quickly surrendering to despair as she hid her face in her hands, errant copper strands escaping from the loose bun at her nape to shield her profile as she openly wailed.  It was enough to cause tears to finally spill down Melissa's cheeks, her chin trembling; God, how she ached for her, how she wished she could help her…

Bonnie rocked on her mattress, speaking when she could, keeping her face hidden.  "They aren't helping, Missy…N-nothing's helping…"

Melissa recovered, rejoining Bonnie on the bed and wrapping her arms around her trembling frame.  "Bon, shh….It'll be alright.  It's gonna be okay."

Bonnie didn't have the heart to disagree, burying her face in Melissa's shoulder to muffle her cries.  It didn't matter what anyone said.  Nothing would ever be okay.

Ever.

_Memories are just where you leave them_

_Drag the waters 'til the depths give up their dead_

_What did you expect to find?_

_Was it something you left behind?_

_Don't you remember…_

_Oh, hold me now, I feel contagious_

_Am I the only place that you've left to go_

_She cries her life is like_

_Some movie, black and white_

_Am I just making lines_

_Over and over again she cries…_

FUEL


	3. Chapter Two

_Jumped in the river_

_Black-eyed angels swam with me_

_The moon pushed out an astral cloud_

_Of all the figures I used to see_

_All my loves were there with me_

_All the past, the future_

_We all went in a little ball_

_There was nothing to fear, nothing at all._

_There was nothing to fear, nothing at all._

RADIOHEAD

Chapter 2 

_November 19, 1997  
4:13 am  
  
I can't go back to sleep.  
  
My stomach hurts, and I've got a migraine from hell, but I can't stop smiling. I had a dream tonight.  
  
It's ridiculous. I can't believe how ecstatic I am. It's just that I haven't had a dream for four years. So I have to write it down. I don't want it to be like so many other things that have been forgotten. I don't trust my brain to keep it, but I doubt that I'll ever completely erase the images, either. Still, while it's fresh…  
  
I feel like I could burst. There's an odd humming, beneath my skin, in my head. A pressure on my chest. I don't want to get my hopes up, but maybe Missy was right all along. Maybe it will just come.  
  
All this because of one dull dream.  
  
And it really was dull. All black, blurry, as though I was underwater, with no sounds. But there was this guy. I can't imagine that he could be someone I had known; I've never seen someone so totally captivating. He looked so familiar though, and I know this sounds weird, but he_ felt_ familiar, too. It was like…almost like I was in his head, and he was in mine. I heard a voice, but his mouth wasn't moving. He was saying my name. The funny thing was that I knew his, too. And just like everything about him, it was beautiful, because it was familiar.  
  
_Damon.

****

  
What a day.  
  
Bonnie eased herself into the bathroom, gently pushing the door closed with her weight. She didn't bother flipping on the light for the first minute, allowing herself the time needed to let some of the tension that had been building all evening melt away. Hearing the bouts of laughter mingled with muffled good-byes coming from the living room wasn't helping.  
  
She didn't know what was wrong with her, or why all her efforts to enjoy the evening had been in vain. She had been genuinely looking forward to it, knowing that Melissa had worked hard to ensure their last Thanksgiving together would be special. She'd even convinced Stella Shapiro, who would rather die than break a nail, to help her with dinner. Amazingly, the bubbly blonde had a knack for baking.  
  
She drew herself up, searching blindly for the light switch and squinting at the sudden fluorescent glow that illuminated her surroundings. She avoided looking in the stylish oval mirror situated over the sink, instead turning on the faucet and plugging the drain. Quickly, she cupped her hands under the cool stream, splashing her face and taking a few deep breaths. Watching the bowl slowly fill, she noted the subtle twitching of her hands and cursed quietly, clutching the rim of the sink until her knuckles were white.  
  
"Get a grip, Bonnie," she muttered, ignoring the droplets of water falling from her chin as she lifted her gaze to her reflection.  
  
She felt like she was losing her mind. It had only been a week since the dream, since she'd first woke with images still floating in front of her, but it felt like an eternity. And now, it was like everything was a dream; she found herself hearing things, seeing things that weren't there, feeling as though someone was watching her…and she wondered whether she was doing the right thing.  
  
Staring back the image that greeted her, she was surprised to see how completely normal she looked, her long loose curls piled high upon her head and held with a clip, her complexion fair and dotted with faint freckles, her big brown eyes a little dazed, but lacking the dark circles that she was used to seeing. She moved her head from side to side, as though looking for something that wasn't there, supporting her weight on the edge of the sink as she leaned in closer, until her nose was nearly touching the glass, tiny mists forming with every exhale.  
  
"You know what you need?" she whispered conspiratorially to the fragile girl staring back at her. "A drink."  
  
A sadness crept into those eyes, a fleeting smile, and she sighed. Never again, she admonished silently, losing herself in the depths of her own gaze, the sounds of the water running slowly fading away. She became aware of a low hum, drowning out everything else, her vision blurring and filling with a blackness that crept in from the periphery, and in that instant, she had the oddest sensation that she was staring back at someone else, someone who had the darkest eyes she'd ever seen…  
  
"Earth to Bonnie…."  
  
She blinked, the voice of one of her roommates drawing her from her trance, and she was suddenly aware that the water was still running, tiny rivulets spilling over the porcelain bowl and dripping onto the floor, forming puddles on the checkered tiles.  
  
"Oh, _shit_," she muttered, reflexively turning off the tap before fetching a towel from the rack over the toilet. Balancing her weight on her heels, she began mopping up the mess, somewhat flustered by her behavior. She sensed someone kneeling beside her, and cringed, already formulating an adequate white lie to explain everything away.  
  
"Bonnie, are you okay?"  
  
Definitely the $64,000 question of late. Even she didn't know the answer. She cast a reassuring glance in Rachel's direction, offering a small smile as she stood, busying herself with tidying the mess she'd made.  
  
"I mean," the taller girl added hastily, her blue eyes widening somewhat, her Southern drawl tainting every word, "you seemed kinda out of it during dinner."  
  
Bonnie sighed, her shoulders falling slightly as she watched the last of the water swirl and disappear down the drain. She wondered then why she'd never been a closer friend with Rachel Summers, with her mellow personality and dry wit that never failed to get a laugh. Bonnie had always admired her beauty, so different from anyone else, with her cropped, spiky black hair, fair skin, intimidating height and bright blue eyes. It would be so easy to open up to her, to tell her the truth for once, but she also knew that the fewer people who knew about her history, the better. The last thing she wanted was pity.  
  
"I'm fine, Rae. Just a little tired," she replied, keeping her back turned. She'd always been a rotten liar, in spite of all the practice she was getting.  
  
She sensed Rachel's hesitation and awaited another pointed question, but was instead saved by the sound of Melissa's voice calling from somewhere in the apartment.  
  
"Rachel, you're supposed to help with the dishes, since you didn't cook."  
  
The dark-haired girl groaned, and Bonnie smiled, more from relief than amusement, as Rachel slinked from the doorway, peeking around the jamb to add, "You know, if you need anything…"  
  
Bonnie shook her head, waving her away dismissively as she tossed the towel she'd used into the hamper by the sink. "I know. Really, Rae. I'm fine."  
  
Rachel smiled amiably, apparently satisfied, and backed into the hallway. It wasn't a minute later that Melissa made an appearance, a knowing frown upon her face, dark brown eyes summing her up from beneath long lashes. Leaning upon the doorframe, she brushed chestnut tresses behind her ear before crossing her arms stoically. Bonnie knew that look all too well. She wouldn't be as easy to put off as Rachel. Then again, Melissa knew too much to be had.  
  
With a sigh of resignation, Bonnie plopped down on the toilet seat, propping her elbows on her knees and cradling her chin in her hands. Melissa took that as a silent cue, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door softly behind her.  
  
"Alright, chick. Spill. You've been acting funny all week." She pulled the hamper over so that she could sit facing Bonnie, straddling the whicker accessory while she spoke. "And what's the deal, giving Jack the cold shoulder? You know he's got it bad for you."  
  
Jack was Melissa's twin brother, and just as gorgeous as Melissa was rambunctious. Both had the same color hair and eyes, but while Melissa was delicate in frame and countenance, Jack was the complete opposite, with strong, chiseled features, broad shoulders, and a body that was all long, lean muscle. Both Rachel and Stella had practically begged to be hooked up, but it was Bonnie who had unknowingly caught his eye during their sophomore year, when she'd tutored him in calculus. In spite of his best efforts, she'd managed to avoid a date since then.  
  
Bonnie didn't bother with skirting the issue, knowing all too well where Melissa's prodding would eventually lead. She opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Melissa's voice, calm and quiet.  
  
"I'm just gonna ask, straight out, because I just really need to know, Bon."   
  
Bonnie's gaze flickered upwards, the seriousness of her friend's tone piquing her curiosity. Melissa wasn't looking at her, but at the lid of the hamper, one finger tracing the weave vaguely.  
  
"You haven't started again, have you?"  
  
Bonnie frowned, sitting up slightly, uncertain of her implications. "Started? Started what?"  
  
The words had left her mouth before she realized exactly what Melissa was asking. Suddenly all too aware, she scoffed, cursing under her breath and turning her head away, the initial hurt giving way to anger. From behind, she heard Melissa shift uneasily on the hamper.  
  
"Bonnie, can you blame me? You've been a thousand miles away today, and you were shaking so bad at dinner, even Rachel noticed-"  
  
"Shut up, Missy."  
  
Melissa fell silent at the sound of Bonnie's voice, an angry hiss that left no room for argument. She bowed her head, instantly regretting having voiced her assumptions, regardless of whether she'd had good reason.  
  
"You know, you haven't exactly been the poster child for sobriety. _Dammit_." Bonnie stood, pressing her palms against her eyes in agitation, keeping her back to Melissa. "I can't fucking believe this."  
  
"Bonnie--"  
  
She spun, glaring down on Melissa, her fists balling at her sides to hide the fact that she was indeed shaking, although it was for an entirely different reason. "So that's what this was all about?" she demanded, gesturing with a jerky sweep of her arm. "The Thanksgiving dinner, all the sentimental bullshit, inviting Jack and his friends over…"  
  
Melissa was shaking her head, holding her hands up defensively, her eyes pleading. "Bonnie, God, no, it was nothing like that…I-"  
  
"You know, why the hell should I tell you anything? You're just going to assume the worst anyway. Bonnie didn't feel like flirting with Jack for once, so she's just _got_ to be on something…"  
  
"Bon, stop, please," Melissa interrupted, her voice small and tremulous. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"She fell silent under the weight of Bonnie's scrutiny, tears stinging the backs of her eyes.  
  
Bonnie suppressed the urge to say anything more, again turning away, this time to lean against the wall, her forehead touching the cool plaster. She took a few deep breaths, having surprised herself by her outburst, but not rueful in the least. She was tired of being treated like a child instead of a friend, though she knew, in her case, drawing a line between the two was sometimes hard.  
  
For nearly a year, Bonnie had been slowly destroying herself with alcohol, along with various other party "favors". She'd been feeling vulnerable, isolated, unable to withstand the self-inflicted loneliness from being too ashamed to tell anyone else about her amnesia. It had been Melissa who'd been the only one to play witness to the hazards of her excesses, covering for her when she was too blitzed to go to class, making excuses when her behavior got out of hand. A bad experience with ecstasy over the summer had finally forced Bonnie to take control. She'd told Melissa everything, and in the process, had acquired an invaluable ally in her efforts to remain hopeful--and clean.  
  
She was faintly aware of shuffling, opening her eyes to glance sidelong at Melissa, who had replaced the hamper and was turning to leave. Sighing resolutely, she cleared her throat, causing Melissa to pause in her retreat.  
  
"I stopped taking my meds."  
  
The silence that followed was almost palpable. Neither one moved for countless moments, until, at last, Melissa canted her head to the side, speaking over her shoulder softly.  
  
"Why? Are you…Do you think that's a good idea?"  
  
Though she knew Melissa couldn't see it, she shrugged, pushing away from the wall and reclaiming her seat on the edge of the toilet seat. "I had a dream the other night. The first I've had in a very long time. I'd forgotten to take my medication before going to bed."  
  
Melissa turned a little more, looking down at Bonnie curiously. "And you thought that it had something to do with your dream?"  
  
Again, another shrug. "I've never forgotten them before. I don't like…forgetting things." There was a distinctive pause before she continued. "So, I decided to go without them for a day. To see if I had another dream."  
  
Running a hand through her hair, Melissa squatted down, one hand on the sink to steady her. "And?"  
  
"I did. A longer one. Clearer."  
  
"I don't understand, Bon. What's so great about these dreams to make you stop taking your meds?" Melissa leaned forward, attempting to look Bonnie in the eye. "Isn't that a little, I don't know…dangerous?"  
  
Bonnie rolled her eyes, a wry smirk lifting the corners of her mouth, covering her insecurity with nonchalance. "God, Missy, I don't even know what the hell those things are really for, anyway. I'm only taking them because my parents told me I had to. I never thought to question their judgment, you know, given the circumstances."  
  
Melissa found that revelation somewhat disturbing, but deciding against commenting on it. She'd already crossed the line once that evening. "Still, what's with these dreams?"  
  
Bonnie sat up slowly, reclining against the back of the toilet, her trembling hands fidgeting in her lap. She was somewhat uneasy about divulging anything more, but knew what suffering in silence had done to her in the past. Still, some things were better left unsaid, at least until she was a little more certain, so she decided against telling her about her "visions".   
  
Taking a break from biting on her bottom lip, she murmured, "I don't think they're dreams."  
  
She shifted her gaze to Melissa's, the solemnity in her gaze punctuating the gravity of her words. Her friend tilted her head slightly, as though trying to predict the current train of thought without much success. When she didn't say anything, Bonnie averted her focus to her denim-clad lap, splaying her unsteady hands upon her thighs.  
  
"I think they're memories."

****

  
_November 30, 1997  
2:27 am  
  
He tells me not to be afraid. That I'm strong, stronger than I think I am. I can tell he's happy, though I'm not entirely sure why. He reached out to me tonight, but I couldn't move, even though I wanted to touch him so badly. "In time," he said. If only I knew what that meant.  
  
He's part of what I've been missing. The buzzing in the back of my mind, the dark shadow lingering. I still haven't figured out who he is, or how I know him, or why it is that he's so important. I've looked through all the pictures that Mom sent me, through my yearbook…he's not there. But that doesn't matter.  
  
I know he's real. Even more real to me than all those other faces in my head. He seems so close in my dreams. Sometimes, when I wake up, I can still smell him.  
  
The semester will be over in two weeks. Maybe I'll find something out when I go home. Somehow…I have this strange feeling Mom and Dad won't be as happy as I am. It makes me wonder.  
  
I don't know. I'm tired. For once, that's a good thing.  
  
_


	4. Chapter Three

_Wandering stars_

_For whom it is preserved_

_The blackness, the darkness…Forever._

PORTISHEAD

Chapter 3 

Boredom is the predominate burden of immortality.

After awhile, nothing is shocking.  You've been there, done that, smoked this, had a taste.  Living becomes bland, even for one who isn't really alive at all.  Your entire existence becomes a search for the latest distraction from the monotony of eternity, something to stir any humanity that is left within, because that is all that is separating you from any other predatory animal.  If not fulfilling, it's at least a little amusing.

Damon thought so anyway.

It took a great deal to attract his interest anymore.  Through centuries, continents, populations, one would think it would take a very long time to exhaust all the possibilities.  Unfortunately, it seemed it really was a small world after all.  There would always be beautiful men and women to devour, and in so many different ways.  Coming up with anything original, however, was becoming harder to do.

Really, it was only ever good for a laugh, or rather a smirk, and then, well, dreadful ennui crept in, and the cycle would begin again.  He sometimes imagined his existence to be a broken record, stuck in the same groove; all things were essentially the same, save for the names.  Occasionally, though, chance would give the needle a good flick, and he would be off on a new path, in which the outcome was delightfully unpredictable.

Case in point:  Fell's Church, Virginia.

The memories implanted from the events that occurred in that sleepy little town still gave him pause from time to time.  He reveled in the emotions they evoked, emotions that he'd felt had died long ago with a sword through his chest.  They reminded him he still had a soul, and, surprisingly, he'd found that mattered a great deal, though he wasn't prepared to consider why.

Inevitably, his thoughts would shift to Elena, and then to Stefan, and then to all the "what-ifs" spawned by his ruminations.  He wouldn't go so far as to admit that he was wallowing in self-pity, but he did tend to admonish his inability to let it go.  He'd lost her to his brother.  She didn't want him.  End of story.

Oh, if only it were that simple.

After the summer of 1992, Damon had become familiar with regret.  So maybe he had a conscience after all, only seldom used, overwhelmed by his thirst for passion, for blood.  He was no saint, but he always had his reasons.  And although his drive was rooted mainly in self-indulgence, he had come to find that altruism, at times, could be just as good as hedonism—sometimes better…

"Monsieur?"

Damon cocked a brow, his train of thought derailed by the tentative interruption of a female from behind.  His fathomless black eyes remained directed out over the glorious view of Paris he had from the balcony of his current temporary domicile, a decadent penthouse suite with help that catered to his every whim.  He made no other movement to acknowledge he'd heard the girl, his arms crossed lazily over his naked chest, barefoot and wearing only a luxurious pair of black satin pajama pants.  A gentle night breeze carried to him the scent of skin, sweat, and anxiety, tainted with a light perfume, and involuntarily, his canines lengthened.  He closed his eyes, the ache in his jaw a welcome reprieve from his quiet contemplations, and for a moment, he was able to forget what had prompted him to conjure up the past.

He finally turned to look, the girl now stammering in French, standing awkwardly in the dimly lit doorway…and suddenly wished he hadn't.  The bemused smirk he wore so well melted as his eyes took in the fair, translucent skin, the wide, almost innocent brown eyes, and, most devastating of all, the abundance of red curls that framed her delicate face.

What luck.

He fought the urge to laugh out loud for the sheer lunacy of it all.  In times such as these, he fancied that there indeed was such a thing as Fate.  He wasn't about to get sentimental, though.  No, if circumstances required that, then he'd save his efforts for the real thing.

His intentions must have been painfully obvious, for the girl had fallen silent, muscles relaxing, her eyes becoming hooded and cloudy.  He unfolded his arms, locking his gaze with hers and crooking a finger seductively.  Wordlessly, and without the slightest hesitation, she moved toward him, the material of her skirt whispering softly over her stockings with every step.  She stopped when she was but inches away, and only because his eyes had moved to appreciate the gentle curves of her neck.

He'd indulge this one fantasy, chase away the burning in his groin as well as in his veins.  Perhaps then he wouldn't dream of her again.  But he knew better.

Bonnie had reawakened the connection.  And this time, he didn't think he'd be able to ignore it.

****

"So, you'll call me during break, right?  Let me know how everything goes?"

Melissa was leaning against the side of the car, one hand on the open lid of the trunk, watching Bonnie unload her luggage.

"Yes, I'll call," Bonnie replied with a sigh, standing on tiptoe to slam the trunk shut.  "You sound just like my mother."

Melissa grimaced, gloved hands fumbling anxiously with her car keys.  Both girls took a moment to look each other over fondly before exchanging hugs, patting and rubbing each other's backs to stave off the chill.

"Promise you won't lose your nerve?"

Bonnie chuckled, pulling away and hefting a suitcase in each hand as she stepped up onto the curb.  "Missy, it's no big deal, really.  It's not like it's a bad thing, you know?  I finally feel like I'm getting somewhere."

She waited for Melissa to grab the remaining luggage and fall into step beside her, careful of the frozen slush covering the sidewalk.  She suddenly wished she'd chosen to go to college in Florida.  Then again, she might never have found a friend like Melissa.  Long, cold winters were a small price to pay.

"Besides," she added optimistically, "my parents might be okay with it.  I don't know why I'm even worrying about it, really.  How could they be anything but happy?  Right?"

"Of course," Melissa replied a little too quickly.  "I mean, this whole repressed trauma thing might have been, you know, a little overrated."

Bonnie pulled up short, canting her head towards her with a look of disdain.  "Gee, Miss, thanks a bunch."

Turning her back on Melissa's stuttered attempts at a retraction, Bonnie entered the bus station, going through the motions with the attendant and doing her best to maintain her calm façade.  She knew her friend had meant no harm, and even conjured up a knowing smile when she glanced back in her direction.  Still, there was truth to her words; bringing up the past had always been a touchy subject with her mother and father.  She'd always been reluctant to press, not fully understanding all that they'd had to endure those few months that had resulted in the loss of her memory.  Asking questions seemed to bring it all back for them, and she hated reminding them.  But it had happened.  And whether they liked it or not, she needed to remember.

"Departure will be in twenty minutes, Miss McCullough."

Bonnie smiled her thanks, accepting her boarding pass as Melissa handed her luggage over to the bus clerk.

"I'm really nervous, Missy," she murmured then, no longer wanting to conceal her apprehension.

Smiling reassuringly, Melissa draped an arm around her shoulders and gave a squeeze.  "I'm nervous for you.  But, like I always say:  Everything will be—"

"Okay," Bonnie finished for her with a lengthy sigh and a lop-sided grin.  She'd hoped saying it would make her believe it, but the odd foreboding that had steadily grown since that first dark dream still weighed down on her.  She didn't know if it would be okay.  She wasn't sure why thoughts of trudging forward with her plans to interrogate her parents made a queer tingling travel up her spine, forcing the tiny hairs of her nape to stand on end.  But nothing was stopping her.  Sultry, haunting images of the same man, this Damon, had grown clearer and more incessant since she'd stopped taking her medication, and not only in her dreams.  It was unsettling, but at times, it seemed as though she were seeing the world through a different pair of eyes, visions of different places, of complete strangers.  None of it made any sense.

She had to know why.

****

Daniel McCullough sat across from his wife of nearly thirty years, elbows resting on the kitchen table, his hands cradling a lukewarm cup of coffee.  He'd joined her nearly an hour ago, and although he'd made efforts to belie his worry, he knew that there was no point denying it any longer.

He'd been looking forward to seeing his daughter, having only received an occasional phone call since the previous spring semester.  She'd chosen to live out her last summer at the university in Erie, and neither one of them had thought anything of it, although, understandably, they'd been uneasy.  It was pointless to stifle her, though, and they both knew it.  She still had a life to live, regardless of what had happened.  And it appeared that she was happy to move on, to push forward.

His wife, however, seemed to think otherwise.

"Are you sure about this?" he ventured quietly.  "I mean, it's perfectly natural for her to ask, anyone would.  It doesn't mean anything, Sarah."

Gauging the look his wife gave him, he had a hard time believing his own words.  He averted his gaze to his mug, his brow furrowing pensively.

Earlier in the week, his wife confessed to having lingering doubts, trudged up by Bonnie's recent requests for photos and other memorabilia.  She'd complied, of course, sending along what she deemed appropriate, doing what she could to ensure Bonnie of her unconditional support.  Still, it was hard not to be afraid for her daughter.

It was a fear they both shared.  Neither one of them were prepared for, nor wanted to endure what had happened before.  Once had been quite enough.

He sighed, running a hand through his graying red hair as he pushed himself up from the table, tossing the contents of his coffee cup into the sink and giving a cursory glance to the watch on his wrist.

"I've got to go.  She's supposed to be at the bus station by six."

He sat his empty mug upon the countertop, bracing himself against the edge with his back to the kitchen, waiting for some sort of response.  But there was only silence, and an invisible tension that weighed down on him, causing his shoulders to droop and his head to fall forward.  After several moments, he turned, the sight of his wife simply staring blankly into the dregs of her wasted coffee spurning a sudden rush of anger.

"Just stop it.  It's not going to happen again.  The doctor assured us of that."

At last, his words yielded a reaction, her deep brown eyes meeting his, awash with apprehension.  "I'm having a hard time placing all my trust in a pill, Daniel."

Once again, he sighed, knowing that statement reflected his own reservations.  He moved around the table, lowering himself beside her chair, one hand reaching out to squeeze her knee.  He summoned a reassuring smile, knowing everything he said and did was as much for his own benefit as his wife's.

"It'll be alright, hon. You'll see."  He straightened smoothly, pausing to give her a quick peck on the cheek, his fingers reaching out to lovingly caress her hair.  He lowered his voice, his tone soothing.  "But we have to stop worrying like this.  You know how she is.  She'll pick up on it in a heartbeat.  We don't want to give her anything to stress about.  We both know all to well what that can do."

She nodded solemnly, staring up at him with tears in her eyes and a wobbly smile.  "I know," she whispered.  "I'll be fine.  We'll all be fine."

Both of them hoped that would be true.


	5. Chapter Four

_'Cause it's a bittersweet symphony, this life_

_Try to make ends meet, you're a slave to the money_

_Then you die_

_I'll take you down the only road I've ever been down_

_You know the one that takes you to the places_

_Where all the things meet_

_Well I've never prayed, but tonight I'm on my knees_

_I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me_

_I let the melodies shine, let it cleanse my mind_

_I'll feel free now_

_But the airways are clean, and there's nobody singing to me now._

THE VERVE

Chapter 4 

The world races with blinders.  In the effort to progress, human beings have a need to bypass the illogical, the untypical…anything that might slow them down in their bolt towards the finish line, where the ultimate uncertainty lay, and even that is ignored until the last few steps.  All that is even seen lay right in front of them:  a dangling carrot, never reached, forever elusive, yet always just as tempting.

Things need to be simple, easy, justifiable, sensible…_normal_.

There are a few who beg to differ.  Rebels who dare to slow down, to take a good look around.  It comes with a heavy lot, to truly see the world with a different view.  These people revolutionize; sometimes it's a good thing.  Sometimes not.

One thing is certain about those few who've taken the time to see, to digest the world in which they live.  Nothing can ever be normal again.  Everything is wrong, and, for the most part, these rabble-rousers do what they can to make it right.  To instill change.  And they are happy to never be satisfied.  Progress is born.

Yet, in some ways, normalcy dominates, even with evolution.

There are instances when the blinders are ripped away, without provocation, without pretense, without intent.  The world crumbles, nothing makes sense, and those people are left flailing, desperate to recapture the mundane, preferring ignorance to the truth, clinging to denial like a lifeline.  It's enough to drive a person to insanity.  Derealization settles in, life becomes a waking nightmare, and the only tether left is the mad rush to get back to normal.

Normal.  Yeah.  That's what people need.

****

Holidays just weren't as fun as they used to be.

Bustling through annoyingly crowded aisles, cursorily scanning the ransacked shelves for last minute additions to what he already knew would be an outrageous cornucopia of traditional Christmas recipes, Matthew Honeycutt ran fingers through his slightly tousled blonde hair, feeling entirely out of place amidst the shoppers, though the majority were also men, fathers, brothers, and sons sent to do just what he was doing, with about as much success.  Still, none of them were sporting expensive cashmere suits and calf-length tweed coats, with disgustingly expensive leather shoes and gloves.  He looked fresh from the big city, and with every pair of new eyes that bored through him when they thought he wasn't looking, he came that much closer to going straight out to his nice platinum Mercedes and driving back.

Finally ending his scavenger hunt with a sneaky take of the last of the crushed cranberries, he cruised awkwardly through the checkout, nearly cursing when he recognized the cashier to be a former cheerleader from Robert E. Lee.  Keeping his head low, he was relieved to have avoided recognition, practically running out of the grocery store into the waiting wash of freezing rain and sleet.  He made no attempt to cover his head, moving as quickly as one could when wearing loafers on ice, weaving through the small parking lot and hitting the sidewalk, sliding a few times but no worse for wear.  He'd parallel parked the extravagant company car he'd borrowed for the trip to avoid any dents or dings while in his possession, though equal consideration had likely never been taken by his peers, given their decadent natures.  He certainly dressed like a blueblood, but that came with the being an intern in a top-notch brokerage; he hoped to get through with his homegrown personality still untainted, and, for the most part, he had.

Coming home was another matter.  He still wished he'd been able to convince his mother to come to D.C. instead of having to return to Fell's Church, but his only surviving parent would have none of it, and he'd known from the start that he'd be forced to make the annual trek back, but foreknowledge never made it any easier.  His memories of the town in which he grew up were forever scarred, haunted with fears, however unwarranted, of what had happened, and what very well could happen.  Sure, that story had ended on a good note, but he knew without reservation that he never, ever wanted to experience anything like that again.  Time and time again, he just wished he could forget that those events had transpired, that those people, those monsters, had existed…and still did exist.

He reached the car, looking just about as ostentatious as he felt amidst the drab storefronts and dimly lit slushy streets.  Fishing the key chain from his pocket, he pressed a button to disengage the alarm, shivering and soaked in spite of his layers, his hair matted to his forehead and cold rain dripping from his nose and chin.  As eager as he was to get out of the storm and out of his business clothes, he paused with his hand on the door, feeling eyes on him once again, anger more than curiosity causing him to peer out from beneath wet lashes to locate the source.  He didn't need to search for long, blue gaze singling out an obvious on-looker from across the street, shadowed somewhat by the spread of an umbrella.  He squinted, shoulders hunched and teeth chattering, and at first thought the gawker to be a stranger, yet another local who found a high-priced car worth braving the cold for.  His numb fingers fumbled with the latch, his intent to dismiss the person without a second thought.  He averted his gaze for but a moment, and noticed out of the corner of his eye that the person was now moving, and so he did a double-take, now entirely out of curiosity, only to see that the woman—yes, definitely a woman, as his eyes lingered long enough to take note this time—had traveled further down the sidewalk, apparently to have a closer look.

Her hair was tucked beneath a woolen beret, a matching muffler around her neck and folded neatly beneath the lapel of her leather jacket.  It bothered him how obvious she was being, having paused to gape at him from where she stood, apparently without fear of being caught.  He didn't know why he was currently engaging in a stare-down, but realized, after some moments of more pointed inspection, that the woman looked somehow familiar…something about her posture, the way she stood, so casual, yet confident…

"No way," he muttered, his arms falling to his sides limply, though he managed to hang on to the plastic bag in his hand.  He straightened, now ignorant of the cold and the rain, as the woman lifted a gloved hand in a tentative wave.  He felt a smile tease one corner of his mouth, his legs moving of their own accord to carry him to the other side of the street, heedless of the traffic or the ice.  Steps slowing as he mounted the curb, eyes never having left hers, he heard himself laugh, disbelief rendering him momentarily speechless, and elation keeping him from doing anything else.

His haze was shattered when she, as smooth as always, with a wry smirk upon her mouth and a sparkle in her dark eyes, took the incentive and broke the silence between them.

"Hi, Matt."

Those two words made it more real, his smile widening impossibly further, as he contemplated the chances of this meeting.  He wondered whether she was as flabbergasted as he felt, but knowing her, if she was, he'd never know.

"Hey, Meredith."

****

"Nice suit, by the way."

Matt grimaced, lips and tongue now burnt by a hasty sip of coffee, peeking at Meredith over the edge of the Styrofoam cup and quirking a bemused brow, mirroring the look she now wore with comedic flair.  She chuckled and shook her head, elbows propped on the table between them, her hands cradling her own steaming beverage just in front of her face.  He glanced down at his pants, drenched to the knee, and shrugged.

"Not anymore."

They'd barely spoken since their initial hellos and Meredith's offer to get something warm to drink, settling on a coffee shop that had been a favorite high school hang-out, back when they'd been nothing but normal teenagers.  It was hard to have shallow small talk with someone who shared the same lot, who knew too much, who bore the burden of having been best friends with Elena.

Matt cleared his throat, knowing that if the silence went on for too long, things would surface that were better left buried.  "So, what have you been up to?  Still in North Carolina?"

She was staring into her cup, and he took the opportunity to examine all the little nuances that together made Meredith Sulez, taking note of what had changed and what had stayed the same.  Her hair was just as long as it had ever been, the same chestnut strands smooth and stylish in spite of having been kept under a hat, though styled a little differently, long layers framing her face.  Make-up was sparse, some gloss here, a little blush there, but with her complexion and classic features, anything more would have been too much, in his opinion.  She simply didn't need it.  He caught himself glancing at her left hand for the presence of a ring when her voice brought him back.

"I'm working on my master's, planning a trip to Africa this spring for some research on my thesis."  She brought her cup to her lips, blowing lightly before taking a careful taste, then averting her gaze towards the large storefront window.  It seemed to him that she was avoiding looking directly at him, though any reason to think so had yet to present itself.

"Africa?  Wow."  He bowed his head, hands fidgeting in his lap.  "What's your major?" he continued haltingly, her statement having left him feeling slightly unaccomplished.

"Economics."  She didn't bother to embellish, their attempts at playing catch-up already lackluster.  Both knew the conversation would have a common head, no matter from which point they started; all roads led to…well, might as well try to delay the inevitable.  "What about you?" she queried, her tone subtly changing, lighter, more amiable.  She nodded at his apparel, catching a glimpse of the car parked outside with a sidelong glance.  "You seem to be doing quite well."

Again, he shrugged, leaning forward to fold his arms upon the table.  "It's not mine, if that's what you're thinking," he muttered, jerking a thumb towards the Mercedes.  "Company car.  But yeah, I guess I'm doing okay.  Got my MBA and I'm working for a firm in Washington."

"So your mother told me," Meredith quipped, chagrin evident in her voice. He stiffened, though didn't raise his eyes, instead resorting to his old habit of running a hand over the crown of his head to rest on his nape, his hair still in disarray, a collection of damp shocks pointing in all directions.  She continued on, pressured to explain herself by his silence.  "I've taken to checking up once in a while.  Hoping to bump into someone, I suppose."

He shifted uneasily, reclining away from the table, his hands in his lap.  "I see.  Looks like you got lucky."

"Matt, it's not like I've been stalking you," she playfully admonished, hoping to lighten his mood.  "I'm just curious.  We used to be friends, remember?"

He peered at her from beneath his lashes, finally giving a sigh of resignation, casting an aimless look around the shop.  "Yes."

"It's been a long time," she added quietly, brushing dark strands behind her ear.  "I might have been more reluctant to leave Fell's Church if I would've thought it meant not seeing anyone for five years."

_I wouldn't have_, Matt rebuffed silently, slumped in his seat and toying with his tie.  He knew his stillness would only prove to make the atmosphere even more uncomfortable, but at the moment, he didn't care.  What did she want him to say?  That he was happy to see her?  In some ways, he was; the best friendships are borne of trials and perilous circumstance, and he would forever be grateful to have known Meredith, to be one of the few to know her like no one else ever would.  Yet, it was precisely because of that same bond, that one treacherous period in their lives that they'd shared, that it pained him so to see her, to be on the brink of speaking of things he'd hoped to never discuss again.  There simply was nothing else holding them together; that bridge had been burned, and he had no plans of constructing another with such an unstable foundation.

And yet, try as he might, he was human, after all.  Grudgingly, he met her gaze, taking the bait she'd thrown him.  "So who else have you been keeping tabs on?"

Her posture seemed forced, as though his reaction hadn't been what she'd expected, and somewhat deflated because of it.  She turned away from him, again opting to stare out the window, the last light of the day having already melted into darkness.  Her eyes were a bit too shiny, causing Matt to frown and lean forward, elbows supporting his weight.  He didn't prompt her when she took her time in gathering her words together, though seeing her a little ruffled made him a bit anxious.  When she finally sighed and averted her gaze to him again, she'd blinked back the wetness, offering him a dismissive shrug.

"There is no one else."  Her tone betrayed the ache that she obviously felt, and in spite of his resolution to remain ambivalent, he was mildly shocked by her statement.

"What…what do you mean, 'no one else'?" he prodded, eyes narrowing.  "Has something—"

Meredith waved a hand to curb any voiced assumptions, conjuring up a chuckle in an effort to dissipate the tension.  "No, no, I didn't mean it to sound that way, Matt.  But…" She paused, tapping lightly on the side of her coffee cup.  "…to be honest, I wouldn't know.  I was beginning to think everyone had simply fallen off the face of the earth, until I got up the courage to contact your mother."

Matt shook his head, his mouth drawn into a pensive line. "So, you haven't heard about…"  He let the sentence trail off, brows rising suggestively.  He wasn't ready to start spouting off names.  He hoped he wouldn't have to.

"No one."  A pregnant pause interrupted as they both succumbed to the memories that had been pressing in, a silent third party from the beginning.  "I mean, it's a little much to hope for, I suppose, but…"  She let her dark eyes level with his, her head canting slightly as she studied his face.  "God, it's good to see you."

In an instant, the cloud had passed, the darkness abating to allow one brilliant snapshot to be added to the collection of fading mental souvenirs from times when there had been no knowledge, only blissful ignorance and naïveté.  With a somber smile, he reached a hand across the table, his palm upwards. Slipping her hand into his warm grasp, she squeezed, her own smile holding steady, though her tears threatened once more.  She watched as he lifted her hand, lips pressing against her skin briefly, a gesture to offer up quiet solace.  A comfortable silence descended, and they were content to leave it be, her hand smothered in both of his.  Close enough to touch, but still a million miles apart.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter 5**

"So, what exactly did Mom tell you?"

Meredith felt a small smile teasing the corners of her mouth, keeping her face turned towards the window, her eyes closing briefly against the blur of the world passing them by.  She'd been floored, relatively speaking, given that reactions of any sort tended to be muffled ten fold by her naturally blasé demeanor, when Matt had casually suggested that she have dinner with him and his mother that evening.  Christmas Eve was the day after tomorrow, but the Honeycutt clan was apparently celebrating a little early, although Matt hadn't divulged why, and she, not wanting to seem even more intrusive, hadn't pressed the issue.  She'd accepted without hesitation; after all, reunions like this didn't happen every day.  Her family could wait a few more hours.

"Sounds like there's something you don't want me to know," she chided quietly.  Matt gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, his jaw clenching as he focused on the stretch of road ahead, but relaxed as Meredith went on, mentally admonishing himself for getting so tense over an innocent speculation.  "I only spoke to her for a few minutes, and that was a couple of months ago.  In September."

There was a slight pause, and Matt snuck a glimpse out of the corner of his eye; his effort yielded no insight as to what she might be thinking, her hands resting quietly in her lap, cradling her beret, looking out the window with indifference.  The moment was gone before he had the chance to contemplate anything further, her voice smooth and soft, perhaps a little sullen.  Same old Meredith.

"I know she's really proud of you.  She told me where you were, what you were doing.  Even gave me your phone number."  They'd stopped at an intersection, and Matt canted his head, brows raised.  She smirked, giving her shoulders a shrug and meeting his gaze; if Matt didn't know better, he'd have thought at that moment, she seemed almost embarrassed.  "I didn't think it appropriate to just call you out of the blue."

Matt smiled, averting his attentions as the light changed.  "I don't think I would have been bothered too much," he murmured with a note of light-hearted humor.  She said nothing in response, merely studied his profile as he drove, her own smile lingering.  A thought suddenly occurred to her, dampening her mood.

"I…I asked her about—"

"Bonnie?"

Meredith blinked, her surprise evident in that one motion, dark brown eyes narrowing slightly as she forced herself to look out the window instead of at him.  "Yes."  Her voice was barely a whisper, somber and reverent.  A grim silence settled between them during the last lengths of the drive to his mother's house, and Meredith regretted having broached the subject.  She could feel a lump rising in her throat in spite of herself, struggling to gather her composure even as they reached their destination.  She kept her face turned away from him, her eyes closed as she took slow, deliberate breaths.  Being in control used to come so easily, but even she could only live through so much…

"Meredith?"

She summoned a small smile, glancing over to see that he'd put the car in park and turned off the ignition, and was waiting with one hand on the door.  When she lifted her gaze to his face, she had already mentally prepared herself to respond to any idle inquiry into her state of mind.  She wasn't, however, ready for the knowing look that was now fixed on her, his blue eyes easily piercing the calm exterior to glimpse the uncertainty that swirled beneath.  She should've known better.  The corners of her mouth sagged, her smile replaced with a frown as she looked down at her lap.

Matt had the sudden urge to slip a finger beneath her chin and tilt her face towards him, but instead let out a long-winded sigh and gestured towards the house.  "C'mon.  We'll talk inside.  After dinner."  She only nodded, slipping on the beret as he got out of the car.  He was at her door before she had the chance to open it, taking his proffered hand as she stepped out into the evening chill.  She shook her head, chuckling softly as they trod the flagstone path to the front door.

"Still the same old Matt," she explained endearingly in response to the questioning look she was given.

****

_There's nothing to be afraid of._

"That's easy enough for you to say.  You've nothing to lose."

_Neither do you.  You just don't know it._

"Then show me."

_Bonnie, it isn't that easy.  This is something only you can fix._

"But…I can't…"

_Yes, you can. You have to._

_The world shifted beneath her feet.  Everything was so dark, so black, save for his image…He seemed so strong, and when she looked at him, it was as though his strength was transposed upon her, steadying her, chasing away the doubt, clearing her view.  She felt the tears pooling in her eyes, and withered beneath his scrutiny, ashamed that she could not live up to his expectations.  It was just too hard…_

_And in an instant, he was standing so close to her, the scent of his cologne surrounding her, his presence buffering the turmoil, comforting in and of itself.  One hand reached out to cradle her face, and she found it ironic how someone so powerful could be so gentle at the same time.  She tentatively shifted her gaze to meet his, black and fathomless, but not like a void…no, not that cold, not that empty.  More like the endless darkness of space laden with millions and millions of stars…each with its own secret, each giving off its own heat.  A tear escaped to leave a wet trail down her cheek, and he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb._

_"It won't always be this way."  He seemed so sad when he said it that she couldn't help but wonder if the statement should appease or worry her.  Wearily she closed her eyes, chin quivering, feeling helpless and alone with the burden placed upon her, wishing he could help her carry the weight.  She heard the wind howling eerily in the maelstrom of her bleak dreamscape and shivered, holding her breath as she felt his face nearing her own, lips parting in anticipation as a puff of air caressed the corner of her mouth…_

_The kiss never came.  She opened her eyes slowly and gasped, now staring into a mirror.  The grayscale wasteland was gone, replaced with the surroundings of a rather expensively decorated bedroom.  But it was not her reflection that was staring back at her.  It was his.  He was leaning into the mirror, the muscles tense beneath the smooth skin of his chest and shoulders, black eyes narrowed and menacing.  In that one moment, she can never remember having been so frightened—and only by a look…_

_His voice was no longer soothing, but ominous.  "Get.  Out.  Of.  My.  Head."_

_She choked, too terrified to even scream as his image pitched closer, a threatening sneer promising death when only moments before, she'd itched to feel those lips on hers.  The world went black, and all that remained was the sound of breaking glass and a swift, searing pain…_

Bonnie awoke, finding her voice as she sat up, reflexively clamping both hands over her mouth to muffle her cries.  She kicked at the blankets with her legs, pushing herself against the headboard, the solid surface painfully pressing into her back.  The pain from the dream had followed her into consciousness, reduced to a dull throbbing that radiated from her furrowed brow and settled behind her eyes.  Blinking frantically, she scanned the darkness, her groggy brain fighting to ascertain just where she was.  Recognizing the now sterile décor of her old bedroom, she closed her eyes, still holding her hands over her mouth as she slumped forward, her panicked cries turning into sobs.

Nothing made any sense.  She knew that if Melissa were there, she'd tell her that dreams never made any sense, and not to worry about it anymore.  But these dreams…

Tonight was the first time that she'd ever been terrified of Damon.  That wasn't what troubled her, though.  What was vexing was the certainty that she'd felt that before; that the fear evoked by him was more real than any other feeling his image had ever conjured.  All this time, she'd been desperate to know the secrets lurking within her past, holding on to the picture of him above all the others, needing to know what it was that held them together.  She'd been feeding off the unspoken promise behind his secret smiles and spoken assurances.

And now this.

Prone upon the mattress, hiccupping against the sheets, soaking the threads with her tears, and clutching the material in her fists, she fought against the unknown, a nearly suffocating pressure that compounded the ache that, along with her fear, was the only remnant of her latest ethereal encounter with the ghost of her missing past.  Surrounded by relics of her youth—stuffed animals, portraits, and keepsakes--she suddenly felt foreign, a stranger in her own house.  She didn't know what was true or false, real or imagined.  And for the first few hysterical moments upon waking, she'd been too terrified at the prospect of finding out.

_Who are you, Damon?  And why does seeing you hurt so much?_

Gradually, the tears subsided, her senses returning, though dulled by a need for dreamless slumber.  She turned her head, squinting at the clock, and sighed.  Just a few more hours until morning.  She couldn't put it off any longer.  In spite of her fear, in spite of the alarms sounding in the back of her mind, raising the hairs at her nape and sending a chill through her body that made her chest ache in protest, she knew that she could put it off no longer.  She'd planned on waiting a few days, going through the motions through Christmas, at least, before she went digging for dirt, but…

Tomorrow, she'd confront her parents.  Tomorrow, she's demand the truth.  To hell with consequence.

****

Damon felt a growl reverberate deep within his throat, feeling the mahogany wood of the vanity splintering as he gripped the edge, his mouth contorting into a snarl as narrowed eyes glared at the myriad of jagged reflections staring menacingly back at him, polished shards scattered about, some still dangling precariously from the ornate frame.  A little over a month, and already, it seemed, he was being driven mad.

He closed his eyes, squeezing the lids tightly against the pounding in his brain as he stood, supporting himself against the vanity.  He felt something warm and wet trail slowly between his lowered brows, tickle the side of his nose, and finally reach the subtle curve of his upper lip before his tongue snaked out reflexively to capture the precious drop.  The taste was soothing, and he savored every last essence, shoulders tense as his head bowed, his breaths ragged but deep.  _Where's your indifference now_, sciocco_*?   You can't be allowing some pathetic human girl to force her way under your skin_ _again…are you?_

A soft gasp erupted from behind, the muscles of his jaw clenching as his canines lengthened instinctively.  A sleepy voice soon followed, and he blinked, ebony eyes fixed on the partial image of the bed that dominated the suite, and the beauty that occupied it, fiery red waves spilling over silky smooth shoulders.  "_Você está sangrando…Que é acontecido? É você aprovado?_"*

The inquiry was innocent enough, but the implications of his situation, coupled with the remnants of this most recent nocturnal assault upon his mind culminated into an overwhelming tidal wave of self-loathing.  Frenetically, a slideshow of ghastly yet disgustingly arousing images played out before his mind's eye, portraying the random redhead's gruesome and, from a predator's point of view, altogether artistically creative demise by his own hand.  He could feel his body readying for the kill, his breaths quickening, veins burning, demanding to be quenched with violence.  A weaker vampire, younger and far more inexperienced, would have let go in an instant, easily overcome by the primal desire that burned within the heart of every killer.

Damon, on the other hand, shook it off like an idle nuisance, rolling his shoulders once to ease some of the tension as he pushed away from the mangled furniture piece, hips shifting to balance his weight predominantly on one leg, his gaze no longer searing as it shifted to stare down upon his hands.  He fancied he could see the blood of thousands etched deep within the grooves of his palms, dried and caking beneath jagged nails…he blinked, cocking his brow curiously when met with the sight of immaculate skin, uncalloused…the hands of a nobleman…

"Get out," he murmured monotonously, still examining his hands, as though searching for traces of what certainly must be there, his momentary homicidal tendencies now forgotten as his fickle mind entertained the beast with thoughts of another kind.  Several seconds passed before he realized she was hesitating, and, with a guttural growl tossed over his shoulder, he balled his perfect, smooth, soft, _playboy's_ hands into fists, raising them over his head and bringing them down to further damage the already fractured vanity, the sounds of tinkling glass and cracking wood mingling with a deafening roar of fury that seemed to shake the plaster from the walls.  It was all the motivation the girl needed as she rolled from the bed and tumbled clumsily to the floor, not bothering to get dressed as she fetched discarded clothes on her way out, whimpering as she disappeared from his view.

He waited until he heard the door to the penthouse slam before unleashing the brunt of his rage, hefting the hardwood beneath his fists as though it weighed nothing, gathering some small satisfaction at seeing it smash against the opposite wall, sending splinters and plaster dust flying.  And so it went, until there was nothing left to break, his latest retreat reduced to rubble in a matter of minutes…without a scratch, without a sprain, without a drop of sweat to testify to his efforts to purge himself of all that swam just beneath the surface, drudged up by a slip of a girl who never should have mattered in the first place.

_Did she ever?_

He dressed quickly, pausing only to wash his hands and face of the dirt and grime, the only evidence on him of the destruction that lay in his wake.  Kicking open the door to the penthouse as he donned a leather trench coat, he plowed through the barrage of employees and curious on-lookers that had been alerted by the cacophony caused by his rampage, adjusting his collar and waving a hand at the protests of a balding elderly gentleman, most likely the concierge, as he passed him by with a muttered, "Bill me."

He didn't know exactly where he was going, letting instinct take over, giving himself up to the hunt.  He had a score to settle.  The witch had gotten his attention.  Whether she'd live to regret it was another matter entire.

I feel you 

_Your sun it shines_

_I feel you _

_Within my mind_

_You take me there_

_You take me where kingdom comes_

_You take me through_

_Lead me to Babylon_

_I feel you_

_Your precious soul, I am whole_

_I feel you_

_Your rising sun, my kingdom comes_

_I feel you_

_The truth you make_

_I feel you_

_Each breath you take…_

DEPECHE MODE

A/N:  1.)  _sciocco_:  fool (Italian)

    2.)  _Você está sangrando…Que é acontecido? É você aprovado?_:  You're bleeding…What's happened?  Are you okay? (Portuguese)


	7. Chapter Six

A/N:  Sorry for the wait!  Med school leaves little time for anything else.  I'm determined to finish, so just hang in there.  Thank you all for being so patient.  This is the longest chapter I've written yet, so I hope it makes up for my absence.  Enjoy!

Something has left my life

_And I don't know where it went to_

_Somebody caused me strife_

_And it's not what I was seeking_

_Didn't you see me?_

_Didn't you hear me?_

_Didn't you see me standing there?_

_Why did you turn out the lights?_

_Did you know that I was sleeping?_

_Say a prayer for me_

_Help me to feel the strength I did_

_My identity_

_Has it been taken?_

_Is my heart breaking?_

_All my plans fell through my hands_

_Fell through my hands_

_All my dreams, it suddenly seems_

_It suddenly seems_

_Empty._

THE CRANBERRIES

**Chapter 6**

"Bonnie, I don't know what's gotten into you, but it'll have to wait."

"But Dad, you don—"

Bonnie's barely voiced protest was silenced by a long-suffering sigh from her mother, a gesture that had never failed to invoke guilt trips from her children, time and again.  "Your father's right, Bonnie.  I don't know why you're behaving like this; we'll be home later tonight—"

"—and we'll have all the time in the world to talk then," her father added as he opened the door to his car, with Bonnie just behind him.  He turned, the door between them, giving his daughter a stoic once over before summoning a reassuring smile.  Bonnie tried her best to mirror his expression, but faltered, her efforts stunted by the eerie chills that radiated from the base of her skull down her spine—a message from her body that was, unfortunately, too vague to be interpreted.

She stiffened as her father reached out, cradling her face in his palm, the gesture echoing with a finality that was too disconcerting for her to benefit from the comfort that was its intent.  Her brow furrowed, chin quivering as he leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon her cheek, her eyes closed tightly to fight the tears for which she had no explanation.  She couldn't tell her parents what was wrong, because even she didn't know exactly, only that something _was_.  It frustrated her to tears, and yet, perhaps she wouldn't feel so strongly had she only the courage to just _make_ them listen…

She tilted her face towards the warmth of her father's cheek, his skin roughened by the stubble of an early morning shave, and fought with all her might not to shudder against the sob the caught in her throat.  _Why am I acting like this?!  It's just a stupid party…they'll be back in a few hours…It's not like—_

Bonnie opened her eyes, afraid to finish that train of thought, blinking to clear her vision as her father sunk behind the driver's seat of the Buick.  She crossed her arms, her movements jerky as she shivered in her sweater and jeans, tilting her head back to squint into the overcast sky and frowning as she noticed the first snowflakes.  She felt the warmth of her mother's arms as she pulled her close for a departing hug, allowing some of the tension to melt away with the myriad of scents that drifted to her…a floral shampoo, the taint of baby powder, spearmint gum, and a whisper of vanilla cologne…all combining to create a more soothing effect than any spoken reassurance could.  And yet…

"Mom, just, please?  I…"  Bonnie pulled back, but hovered close enough to quell the sting of the bitter cold wind.  "There's something that I've been wanting to ask you, and…it's important, and…I j-just don't think I should p-put it off any longer…"  She winced as her voice faded, unable to hinder the shivers that stuttered her speech.  She decided at that moment she couldn't possibly sound any more infantile than she was behaving.

She could sense her mother's hesitation, though her eyes were fixed at a random spot on the ground, too embarrassed by her inability to control the tumult of emotions that had seemingly sprung out of nowhere the moment her parents had readied to leave.  Hope welled up, and she felt the fear that constricted her chest begin to abate at the chance that presented itself.  The harsh sound of a car horn startled them both, and Bonnie knew, in that very instant, that she shouldn't have bothered to hope at all.

It was as if her senses became muddled, a shadow settling over everything, dimming her surroundings.  She was aware of her mother shouting something to her father, who'd started the engine already, before she felt the slight touch of lips pressed against her forehead.  Among a series of dampened mutterings she was certain a quick "good-bye" was thrown in.  The world was spinning, moving along without her, and she stood, statuesque, feeling overwhelmed with hopelessness and futility, a silent audience to the mini-drama playing out before her.  _This is important_, something whispered to her, and she strained to capture every detail…_Remember this.  Cherish it._

The spell was broken with the slam of a car door.  Bonnie blinked, eyes squinting against the daylight that suddenly seemed too harsh, huddling against a cold that bit to the bone.  She shook her head, the last remnants of shadow lifting, and stared sullenly at the smiling face of her mother through the windshield as the car began to back out of the driveway.  At last, as reality came crashing down, she stumbled forward uselessly, her fear returning with a vengeance, along with the knowledge that there was nothing she could do about it.

"Wait—"

Her entreaty was merely a whisper snatched away by the wind, followed by a bitter sob as she watched the Buick drive away, her legs carrying her stiffly down to the curb as she struggled to be heard.  "Wait!  Mom, Dad! I…wait…please…just wait…"

The tears that fell froze upon her reddened cheeks, her pleas dying as her throat no longer obeyed her command, choked with barely suppressed sobs as she watched the car carrying her parents disappear from view.  Through the rear window, she could see the face of her mother, worry marring her features with a pensive frown.  With a jolt that seemed to cease the beat of her heart, the image changed in an instant, her mother's countenance now covered in blood, her blue eyes open yet unstaring and lifeless, her smooth cheek pressed against the cold, menacing surface of solid asphalt that pulsed with a strobe of alternating red and blue.  A glimpse of what was to come?  She began to slowly shake her head, closing her eyes against an afterimage that blurred her vision.

"No…"

_What's wrong with you, Bonnie?_, a tiny voice taunted in the back of her mind.

_It's not like you'll never see them again._

And as the snow began to fall in earnest, she stood transfixed, her chocolate-brown eyes glassy, her posture stiff against the howling wind…her body shaking, but not from the cold.

****

Meredith awoke to the smell of strong coffee and bacon…and Matt.

She became alert instantly, her dark eyes widening in alarm as she sat up.  She was unable to determine exactly where she was at first, the last remnants of slumber slow to regress.  She pressed the palms of her hands to her eyes, blinking rapidly afterwards to clear her vision, then surveyed her surroundings, one corner of her mouth tilting up in a wry smirk as realization settled in.

She was in Matt's bed, wrapped in Matt's sheets and his mother's quilt, in Matt's bedroom.  The previous night's events slowly returned to her, and she slumped forward, her legs crossed beneath her, burying her face in the covers permeated with Matt's scent.  She was certain that she'd fallen asleep on the couch downstairs last night, but then again…Sighing, she shook her head, smirking as she straightened and slid her legs over the edge of the mattress.  She lifted her arms above her head, stretching languidly and giving a wide yawn, then pushed herself to her feet.

Idly smoothing the wrinkles in her clothes, she let her gaze wander aimlessly about the room, nostalgia keeping her from venturing downstairs where she could hear Matt and his mother making casual conversation.  Her stomach growled, but she ignored her hunger, instead tentatively moving towards a bookshelf littered with old trophies and pictures.  She'd only ever been in his room once before, and that had been in the seventh grade, when Elena had made her and Bonnie tag along to welcome "the new kid".  She wasn't surprised to see things hadn't changed much since then.

She poured over the pictures in silent reminiscence, her smile tainted with the sadness of innocence long lost.  Most were of Matt himself, donning various sports uniforms and striking poses.  A senior photo of Elena wearing a velvet sapphire drape was held in an intricate silver frame, with several smaller photos of some of his other high school classmates, including herself, stuck in the edges.  Her hand lightly glided along the shelf, pausing to touch each frame as she examined the picture within:  a candid taken from his high school graduation, his features entirely too sullen for a teenage boy free to take on the world; a faded family portrait, Matt held in his mother's lap with a man who could only be Matt's father standing over them, his warm eyes and carefree smile so like that of the man she now knew.

Beside the family portrait was a picture that she couldn't place, a frown creasing her brow as she studied the smiling baby in the photograph.  For all the similarities—the blonde hair, the bright blue eyes, even the lop-sided grin—the infant could have been Matt's sister.  As far as she knew, however, Matt had been an only child.  Her frown deepened as she leaned forward to study the picture more closely.  A cousin, perhaps?  Or maybe—

"I see you're finally awake."

Had her throat not constricted involuntarily, Meredith was certain she would have let out a scream.  She spun around at the sound of the voice and took a step back reflexively, her back meeting the wall with a soft thump.  There Matt stood in all his glory, a bemused grin plastered on his face, a mischievous gleam in his pale blue eyes.  He slowly slipped his hands into the pockets of his pants, and Meredith noticed then that he had obviously already showered and dressed, the tantalizing smells of soap and cologne teasing her dulled senses.  She decided at that moment that she was fully awake indeed, her heart racing from the scare she'd been given, combined the sight of him looking so put-together…God, was that a _tie tack_?  Had so much happened in five years…had he changed so drastically from the Matt she'd known?

"Good…good morning," she murmured, somewhat breathlessly.  She fought the urge to grimace, picking a random spot on his immaculately pressed shirt, hoping to avoid a blush that was certain to come about if she had to meet his gaze.  Since when had Matt been able to make her blush?  She decided not to pursue that line of thought, thankful when he broke the silence.

"You plan on coming down for breakfast?"

She nodded dumbly, her brow furrowing as she checked the watch on her wrist.  She did a double-take, dark eyes flickering towards Matt then back to the watch before she crossed her arms over her chest.  "You had me thinking I'd overslept."

He gave her an inquisitive bob of his eyebrows, and she answered with a telling once-over.  "What, are they making you work on Christmas Eve?"

"Oh," he mumbled, giving a short laugh before shrugging.  "I…have an appointment to keep."

She smiled at the tone of his voice, and the hesitance in his choice of words, canting her head to the side as the last of her uneasiness suddenly melted away.  "Really?"  She gave an inward sigh of relief.  He hadn't changed, not really; same old Matt, indeed…just a different, more tailored package.

He bowed his head, the wry grin he wore proof that he knew where this was going.  He seemed to have decided to play along, though, peeking up at her through his lashes.  "Yes, really."

She narrowed her gaze at him, her smile becoming almost devious.  "Is this appointment with a girl, perchance?"

She didn't know why she was gaming him like this, for it was entirely unlike her to be so jovial, especially after having just crawled out of bed at eight in the morning.  Then again, teasing him was an easy way to avoid being serious, and, given her earlier reaction to him, she'd much rather be relatively silly.  She really wasn't expecting an answer from him, having started the thread with the hopes of just easing her way out of a corner, so to speak.  And so she had no way of predicting what he'd say next.  Had she an idea, she might have sat down.

"You could say that," he muttered, his gaze softening as he averted it to the portrait of the baby she'd been studying when he'd startled her earlier.  He gave a sidelong glance in her direction, then nodded at the picture, clearing his throat as his expression sobered.

"That's my daughter."

The pregnant pause that followed his revelation lasted far too long for Meredith's comfort, her thought processes having arrested with the beat of her heart and her breathing.  She was waiting for the somber mask he wore to crack, for him to slap her on the shoulder and tell her it was just a joke, and that the baby really _was_ his cousin…But as the seconds ticked by, with his eyes having never left the portrait, it was obvious he was serious.

"Julia Marienne Honeycutt," he proffered, banishing the silence between them at last.  He scoffed, canting his head slightly and focusing his attentions on Meredith, choosing to ignore the complete and utter shock written on her face.  "Her mother was nice enough to give her my last name, at least."

Meredith was unresponsive to say the least, though he could see her throat working, straining to form whatever words she could gather after having been dealt such a bombshell.  He chuckled, shaking his head as he turned and took a few steps towards the door, one hand slipping from his pocket to rub the back of his neck in a gesture of mild unease.  "I know, I know.  Who'd have thought, right?"

He turned to cast a glance over his shoulder, his smirk fading.  She'd finally moved, having turned away from him, and he could see over her shoulder that she was again looking at the picture of Julie.  Careful hands clutched the frame and brought the portrait for closer inspection, her body shifting to offer him a view of her profile as she studied the photograph.  His brow furrowed slightly when he witnessed her thumb lightly caress the curve of his daughter's cheek, but he held his position, waiting this time instead for her to speak, longing to know her thoughts, yet, at the same time, almost afraid of what she might say.

He didn't have to wait long, her posture straightening suddenly, her movements no longer jerky and hesitant but graceful as she replaced the portrait upon the shelf and turned to face him, smoothing the front of her sweater and leaving one hand upon her abdomen, a gesture that belied the calm façade she wore.  She offered him small smile, her voice soft and wavering when she finally spoke.

"So, you're a father."  She forced her gaze to level with his, uncertain as to the reason for the pressure within her chest that made it hard for her to breathe.  The statement was a redundancy, left hanging in the air as she lowered her gaze and nodded slightly, as though she were still convincing herself.  She sidled up to him, then moved past, halting when she reached the door, raising one hand to rest on the jamb.  She spoke to him over her shoulder, having finally reclaimed the steady monotone that betrayed no emotion, no glimpse into what she might be thinking, and for that, she was thankful.

"It seems I fell asleep too quickly last night.  We still have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

The sound of rapid footfalls upon the carpeted steps at the end of the hallway was a welcome interruption, and Meredith quickly wiped away the wetness that had gathered in the corners of her eyes with a tremulous hand just as Ms. Honeycutt's face came into view.  Donning a quick smile, she moved out into the hall, glancing uneasily back at Matt, still standing where she'd left him, though looking a bit more perplexed than before.

"Good morning, Meredith," Ms. Honeycutt cooed, her ash blonde hair still in curlers and wrapped in a pale pink scarf that matched the color of her cotton robe.  "I hope Matt didn't wake you.  Feeling hungry?"

Meredith clenched her fist, realizing then that her hand had still been hovering over her stomach in a fruitless effort to quell her rising discomfort.  She bowed her head, averting her gaze to the floor as she moved past the older woman with a muttered, "Famished."  She felt her chin trembling, clenching the muscles in her jaw to keep the lump in her throat from becoming anything more, hurriedly descending the steps to the first floor, hoping that Matt's mother mistook her brevity for a ravenous appetite and nothing more.

She heard Matt call after her, but didn't pause, his entreaty lost as she fought to regain her control.  She was being a fool, she knew, and she also knew that she was quite possibly giving Matt the wrong idea, reacting as she was to the news that he had a child.  Yet, she chose to leave the waters muddied, unable to offer up any explanations for her behavior at that moment, unwilling to lay open the secrets she'd kept from him during their talk the night before.

A child…a little girl… 

She wondered then if he knew just how lucky he was.

****

To say that he was frustrated would be an understatement.

Damon tilted his head back, narrowing his focus to a window on the third floor of the college dormitory that loomed before him, light from within less of a clue that someone was home than the noisy chatter that drifted out to him through the panes of glass.  He felt his teeth grind together, a low growl growing deep within his throat.

She wasn't there.

He had actually hoped for Bonnie's unintentional assistance is his endeavor to locate her whereabouts, enduring the ten hour flight from Rio de Janeiro, suffering through the exhaustion only to realize that even if she had been putting out any sort of "psychic radar" for him to home in on, picking it up while flying would have been impossible, even for him.  The entire process of crossing oceans and rivers from 35,000 feet simply required too much concentration for anything else.  Having landed in the midst of an entirely different season had thrown him as well, and so, after having taken out some of his rising anger on a pickpocket at the airport and vanquishing his thirst with the bastard's blood, he'd taken the time to gather his bearings.  He'd jumped the flight farthest north that had been available, not entirely sure of the logic behind his choice, but having always trusted his instincts over conscious thought, he had no reason to deny it.

He knew he'd overshot his mark, departing from Montreal within an hour of his arrival, and followed the only trace he could detect south, crossing the international border and arriving at Erie, Pennsylvania by nightfall.  Even then, long before he'd made it to the campus grounds of the university, he knew she'd eluded him.  His burgeoning lack of patience, however, was having its effect on his concentration, and instead of following whatever psychic trail she might have left behind, he decided upon a more traditional technique, regardless of the consequences.

And so there he was, biding his time, awaiting the opportunity to make his move, his calculating obsidian stare never deviating from the window of what he knew to be her dorm room, catching random snips of conversation, and with them, the voices and names of those within.  Two girls, with a third having been sent to run some errands before he'd arrived.  It was the absentee who was to be his next target.  Beyond that, he had no plan.  He'd learned in the past that planning in situations such as this led to disaster far more often than success.

And he would not fail.

The sound of an approaching purring engine forced his attention from the window, and with a malevolent grin, he gathered his Power, blending effortlessly into the shadows.  It suddenly occurred to him then that for the first time in years, he was actually having fun.

****

Melissa drummed her fingers impatiently upon the countertop, eyeing the clock on the microwave for tenth time in as many minutes.  Giving a long-winded sigh, she folded her arms, turning around to give a knowing glance in Rachel's direction.  Her roommate looked up from her magazine, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow before raising her shoulders in a bewildered shrug.  Shifting her weight uneasily upon the wicker pompazon in which she lounged, she finally let the magazine flop to her lap, folding her hands on her middle, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"I told her not to go to the mall," she began defensively.  "I mean, she knows it's Christmas Eve!  She couldn't really be that stupid…could she?"

Melissa slumped forward, her elbows propped against the breakfast bar, her head in her hands.  "I knew this would be a bad idea.  I should have just went home with one of you guys for Christmas instead of making you come here—"

Rachel rolled her eyes, groaning with the effort it took to get to her feet, her fuzzy slippers scuffing upon the floorboards as she crossed the living area and settled onto a stool across from Melissa.  "You didn't make us do anything.  It was Sophie's idea, remember?  Neither one of us likes the idea of you spending the holidays all alone up here.  And," she pressed on, her tone not allowing any room for argument, "everyone needs a family on Christmas.  So you're stuck with us."

Melissa peeked at Rachel through the cracks between her fingers, relinquishing with a round of lazy chuckles that ended in a defeated moan.  "Great…that's…that's just great."

She straightened, laughing at the face that Rachel now wore, waving her hands in front of her defensively.  "I'm just kidding, Rae.  I'm really glad you guys are here.  Well, that _you're_ here, anyway.  I'll be fucking ecstatic if Sophie ever shows up with dinner."

A dull knock on the door made both of them jump, not so much from surprise as from an eagerness borne out of empty stomachs.  Giggling, they battled each other to the door, shoving and pulling like children in a race to reach the doorknob first.  Melissa's hand made purchase, and with a triumphant cry of victory, she gave a final shove to Rachel, releasing the chain and throwing open the door without bothering to get a view through the peephole.  In retrospect, she didn't know if having looked would have made a difference, but she wished she had.

Both girls instantly sobered at the sight of their friend, her green eyes wide with terror, a black, leather-clad hand clamped over her mouth.  "Sophie…" Rachel began, her voice dying as both she and Melissa turned their eyes on the petite blonde's captor, mouths gaping at the countenance that smiled back at them.

"_Bongiourno_, ladies," Damon purred, seemingly nonplussed by the trembling girl held firmly in his clutches.  "For the sake of your friend here, I suggest you invite me in."

The invitation was silent, but the implication was clear enough to evaporate the invisible barrier that kept him at bay, as both girls simultaneously cleared the doorway, taking several steps back to allow him entrance, their combined fear a heady intoxication that made keeping his focus somewhat difficult as he crossed the threshold.  With his only obstacle now abolished, he kicked the door closed with his heel, a push of his Power sliding the deadbolt into place as he tossed his hostage aside, disregarding her cry of pain as she was sent tumbling to the floor.  He was instantly overwhelmed by the taint left by Bonnie's presence, an unmistakable psychic signature that made him somewhat light-headed.  The sensation was brief, his wits returning to him in an instant, his witnesses completely oblivious to his temporary lapse in self-control.

"What…what do you want?" a voice prompted to his right, and he swung his gaze in that direction.  He didn't hesitate, foregoing his want for a good game of quid-pro-quo and closing the distance between him the girl.  His gloved hand snaked out to grasp her throat, his grip solid enough to raise her off the floor, yet positioned so as to keep her conscious long enough to get the information he desired.

"Hmm…"  His black eyes narrowed, carefully studying her features and cataloguing them for future reference.  "Melissa, is it?"  He didn't give her time to offer up a response, knowing he was right anyway, having matched the name with her voice from his earlier observations.  "I'll tell you what I want.  Plain and simple.  And I expect a precise answer.  Do you understand?"

Melissa held his wrist in both hands, squeezing with what strength she could muster, much of which went into drawing every breath she took.  His grip was unyielding, a vise that threatened to crush her windpipe at the slightest inclination.  She was aware of stifled whimpers, mixed with Sophie's tear-laden apologies

"Please…don't hurt her."  Rachel had been the one to speak this time, her voice surprisingly steady in spite of seeing one of her closest friends dangling like a fish on a hook.  Melissa blinked slowly, ashamed of the hot tears that spilled from her eyes, but unable to stop them from forming.

Damon cocked his head, a sidelong glance tossed towards the dark-haired girl who'd offered up an entreaty, her blue eyes frightened yet unwavering.  He flashed her a brilliant smile, one that might not have been interpreted so maliciously had he been in a different position.  He looked away from her then, returning his attentions to the girl whose pulse beat frantically against his palm.

"No one is going to get hurt, so long as I get what I came for."

A heavy silence descended, Sophie's frantic whimpers coming to an abrupt halt with the hope of coming away unscathed, the other two eagerly awaiting the moment when he would make known his objective, anxious to have him be on his way.

"Now, you've a roommate—a redhead."

Rachel and Melissa exchanged furtive glances, but said nothing, their fear returning, this time for the welfare of their friend.  Melissa's mind began to run in an entirely different tangent as she waited for him to continue, a black ring forming in the periphery of her visual field.  _Is it possible…could this guy be part of something Bonnie has forgotten?_  She ceased her train of thought, fighting to maintain her frail hold on consciousness as she realized the stranger was talking again.

"…where she is."  His voice was hypnotic, penetrating, commanding the obedience of everyone around him.  When she took too long to respond, he reacted with a subtle shift of his hold, a sharp pain radiating from just beneath her jaw to terminate on the same side of her skull.  She winced, fresh tears leaving wet trails upon her ruddy cheeks, unable to open her mouth or gather the breath necessary to produce a cry of agony.

"Stop it!" Sophie pleaded, now sobbing with a vengeance, a shaking mass huddled in a ball on the floor.  She was silenced with a look, literally, slumping over like a rag doll, her awareness ripped from her with a mere thought.  Again, Damon raised his impossibly black eyes to Melissa, giving a small shake of his head and clicking his tongue.

"You'll find me lacking in the diligence necessary to tolerate impertinence," he warned, his tone having never changed, yet seeming all the more ominous.  Melissa fancied that he sounded almost regal, and wondered vaguely just who the hell this guy was.  She could no longer see at all, her view of the upper half of the room and the ceiling now obscured by encroaching blackness and intermittent flashes of colored light, her hold upon his wrist weakening as a paralyzing numbness began to spread throughout her limbs.

Just as she was about to slip into blessed oblivion, the shrill ringing of the phone called her back to reality.  That, along with the fact that he'd loosened his grip a little.  Involuntarily, she gasped, sucking in as much precious air as his hand would allow, blinking rapidly to try and clear her vision as one hand clawed uselessly at the fingers on her throat.

"Don't move."  His order was nearly a growl, and Melissa subsided in her struggles, only to realize the instruction had been for Rachel.  There a was a slight pause, in which it seemed as though he was concentrating on something, just before a knowing grin spread slowly across his chiseled features, causing a ripple of fear to course through Rachel's already stiff form.  Her eyes mere slits, Melissa glimpsed down, only to see him smiling up at her, one elegant brow raised in amusement.

"It seems," he murmured, releasing his hold to let her crumble to the hardwood floor, overcome by coughing spasms as she was free to breathe again, "that my timing is impeccable."

On the fourth ring, the answering machine clicked on, and Melissa struggled to regain her composure long enough to hear the caller leave a message.  She didn't bother to wonder how this intruder knew who it would be; she only hoped that he was wrong.

"Missy?"

Melissa closed her eyes, choking on a sob as she struggled to push herself to a sitting position, wobbling on her knees with one quivering arm supporting her weight as her other hand was held to her throbbing throat.  _Oh, God, Bonnie…_

The voice of her best friend was hesitant, an occasional sniffle punctuating the pauses between her words.  Was she crying?

"Missy, dammit…where are you?  Please…please pick up.  I…I think something terrible has happened."

A fit of sobs followed, and Melissa ached with the pain of hearing Bonnie suffering, her injuries forgotten as she jerked reflexively towards the phone.  A heavy black boot suddenly blocked her progress, her red-rimmed eyes trailing the extent of the denim clad calf that peeked from beneath an expensive leather trench coat, to the gloved hand held out, hovering only inches from her face, prohibiting any further attempts to move.  She blinked, tilting her head back painfully, only to see him shaking his head in silent warning.

She watched as he angled his ear towards the sounds coming from the machine on the other side of the room, his expression unreadable as Bonnie continued, her words mangled by a combination of her crying and a lousy connection.  "I…I just really need you to call me.  Please…_please_ call me."

Unexpectedly, the stranger crossed the room, as though he'd only just made up his mind about something, snatching the phone from it's cradle, his motions smooth and graceful in their execution.  Bringing the receiver to his ear, he paused to listen, giving a small shrug after a moment's pause, and returning the phone to its perch, his dark eyes casually scanning the number on the caller ID.

"Pity," he muttered, mock disappoint tainting his words.  "She hung up."

He reacted swiftly, pivoting towards the door, his intentions obvious.  More terrified of what might happen should she let him go than if he were to stay longer, Melissa cried out, her voice raspy and strained from his abuse.  "Wait!  What are you going—"

He paused with his hand on the door, looking over his shoulder at the two girls who stared after him, panic etched in the lines on their faces.  "Sleep," he muttered, a suggestion sent out with a wave of Power that hit Rachel first, causing her to collapse into the pompazon, then Melissa, who merely caved against the smooth surface of the floor with a muffled thump.  "Forget," he added as he slipped out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft click.

Emerging into the welcome fold of the night's cold embrace, he couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up within him, immersing himself in the thrill of the hunt, with the knowledge that his prey lie in wait only hours away.  In spite of whatever inconveniences the connection with Bonnie had placed upon him, it seemed to have its purposes—at least in this.

I'm coming for you, Bonnie, he thought to himself as his form shifted and he took flight with a powerful flap of obsidian wings, his sense of direction having been honed by a combination of a distraught telephone call and, rather simply, an area code.  Do you see me? 

_Because I _feel_ you._

****

The silence was deafening, a palpable weight that made every breath strenuous, a white noise that couldn't be quelled with the ambience from the TV, or the passing of the cars outside, or the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall.

She was waiting.  She didn't want to admit to knowing what lie ahead, but denial had fatigued her to the point of numb paralysis, and so she sat, slumped against the wall upon the kitchen floor.  She'd been there for hours, it seemed, the phone held against her chest, her wide eyes glazed and unfocused, averted to some spot on the linoleum.  The air was pregnant with ominous foreboding, and it seemed as though it, too, waited.

The pressure was building, and she knew that any moment now, justification would come in the form of a telephone call.  And then, for a second time that night, her heart would bleed, and her tears would come, but this time, she would be shattered, and the wells would run dry long before she could ever hope to stop crying.

She wanted to be wrong.  She wanted this all to be just some weird dream, perhaps even a drawback of having completely stopped her medication, a withdrawal of some sort.  She wanted the images that assaulted her fragile mind to be nothing more than mere hallucinations, and nothing else.  A symptom, a nuance, a side-effect.

She saw rather than felt the gooseflesh erupt over the visible expanse of skin on her forearms, blinking her eyes into focus, her movements slow and surreal.  She felt removed, disengaged from her own body as alien commands were executed, her left hand fiercely clutching the phone receiver as it fell into her lap, leaving her to stare blankly at the keypad.

3…2…1….

The ringing of the phone shattered the spell, her senses suddenly hyperaware, the looming silence that had dulled her awareness evaporating in an instant.  She could hear the songs from a Christmas special on the TV—was it "The Grinch That Stole Christmas?"  She blinked, as though having been roused too quickly from a dream, her brow furrowing as numbers swam in her vision…

8:46.

She shook her head in the hopes of dispelling some of the confusion, the phone still ringing in her hand as she lifted her eyes to the dimly lit clock on the microwave, her chin trembling.  She did a double-take, her mind working towards a conclusion that she'd known all along, her gaze flickering from the clock to the phone and back again, her breathing shallow and erratic.

It was happening.  No, it _had_ happened.

"Oh, God…"

She didn't want to answer it.  She didn't have to.  She knew…she'd known…she'd _known_…_Oh, God…how?!_

Bonnie tilted her head back, hands clutching the fabric of her shirt, fresh tears falling…and screamed.

Her parents were dead.


End file.
